


A Rebel of Steel

by Padria95



Series: No One Left Behind [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: (Or the start of it anyway), And snarky..., Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Cassian Hurt, Cassian is Awesome, First Meeting, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, K-2SO is Amazing, No Spoilers, Pre-Rogue One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9568520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padria95/pseuds/Padria95
Summary: Trapped, injured and determined to succeed, Cassian's choices are limited. He can do nothing and die for sure, or he can try something crazy and only maybe die. Neither option really appeals to him, but with the Alliance counting on him, is there really a choice? The answer is no.There's a 92% chance of death, the droid informs him. The 8% chance of friendship remains unspoken.Prequel to Rogue One and "Don't Leave Me Now." Can be read as a stand alone. How Cassian and K-2SO first met.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well here we go! I couldn't resist a Cassian and Kay story since I love their friendship and I didn't give it as much screen time as I would have liked in my previous story, so this is my version of how Cassian and Kay first met. I have not read the novel, I have only seen the movie (multiple times... I love it) so this is my own version that fits with the movie but I have no idea if it fits with the book. So please be aware of that. This story is designed to fit with the limited information we are given from the movie and, as a result, this can absolutely be read without ever reading Don't Leave Me Now. 
> 
> In my universe of Rogue One, this story takes place in 8BBY.
> 
> The sequel to Don't Leave Me Now is in the works! I hope to start posting that in the next few weeks. 
> 
> And finally, I am probably being over cautious, but just a heads up that there is a _slightly_ spoilery warning of what could be interpreted as depressive content (not my intention, but I can see how it would be interpreted that way) in this chapter's end notes (I put it in the end notes in case people don't wish to be warned in advance).

_You’re crazy_ , a voice whispers in his head. _You’ve finally reached the breaking point and, not only did you go beyond it, you absolutely PLUNGED past it._

He ignores the unwelcome truth.

 

_You are going to get yourself killed._

“Hush!” he hisses aloud, trying to silence the voice that sounds strangely like one of his fellow rebels, Vorin Yevez, who's always trying to sneak his way into Cassian’s life as a friend, despite Cassian’s repeated attempts to discourage him. “I am dead anyway if this doesn’t work, so I _literally_ have nothing to lose!” he exclaims, refusing to acknowledge that it doesn't bode well that he's talking to himself… _the blood loss must be getting to me,_ he muses distractedly, this time confident that it is his own conscience talking and not one influenced by his comrade.

 

Darkness permeates the room, broken only by the glow of the emergency lighting, which bathes surfaces in red, including Cassian’s hands. _Of course it’s the light that’s turned them crimson, not the blood._ Shadows coalesce around the hulking form lying before him, making it difficult for him to see in order to finish his desperate gamble, but his hands have worked with machines and wires all his life; he won’t let a little something like lack of proper light stop him.

 

His fingers slip on the metal and he winces as the sharp edge bites deep into his skin, but he doesn’t stop. The blood that oozes out of the cut doesn’t deter him, in fact it makes no difference to him as it only adds to the blood already there. Instead, he quickens his movements. After all, he is working under a deadline. A literal _dead_ line.

 

He's concealed from Imperial detection for now, but any moment he knows the doors to this room are going to open to reveal a horde of Stormtroopers. They know a rebel has infiltrated their base, but they sustained heavy casualties in their first confrontation with him—he made sure of that once his cover had been blown, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake as he tried to escape—and are now proceeding with more caution. They aren't certain of his exact location, so they’ve begun to search room by room. Their discovery of him is inevitable, but he knows this small monitoring area he slipped into a half hour earlier won't be searched for quite some time. He'd chosen it for a reason, as it's a low level station not related to security and therefore won’t be a priority, but he'd gotten more than he bargained for when he first entered the room.

 

*

 

(Thirty minutes prior)

 

Slipping into the small room with the hope of using it as a temporary hideout, he expects to encounter a technician or two and is prepared to end their lives. _For the sake of the Rebellion,_ he tells himself, already hardening his heart. What he isn't prepared for is a seven foot tall Imperial security droid. That changes everything.

 

He knows for certain that the only thing that saves his life is the fact that he is still in Stormtrooper uniform, having used an alias and a disguise to infiltrate the base in order to obtain the Empire’s data on their numerous mining operations across the galaxy—operations the Rebellion hopes to exploit, as supplies are desperately low. He’d successfully obtained the information, but unfortunately, a soldier had grown suspicious of him and demanded that he come report to the base’s General. Naturally, Cassian had refused, which is what lead him to flee and enter the room with the droid.

 

The droid looks up at him the moment the door opens, registers the still smoking blaster burns to his left shoulder and right hip, and demands, “Why are you not in medical, Trooper? Your vitals are not ideal and my scans show significant damage to two areas of your body. Your presence is not required here.”

 

“Yeah, no kidding,” he mutters, “I’d rather not be here anyway.”

 

The droid stands slowly and begins to approach him, suspicion obvious in the tread of its step. Cassian moves sideways casually in order to allow the door behind him to close, sealing them off from the rest of the base and providing a modicum of privacy. Humans he could have killed quietly and—as much as he hates to admit it to himself—easily. He long ago perfected the art of ending a life in the name of the Cause, no matter how much it makes him die a little inside every time. He's only eighteen, but he’s had more than ten years of practice. However, he has no idea how to kill a droid silently—and silence is key because if he uses a blaster, it will certainly draw unwanted attention to the room and frankly, he needs a little time to rest and reorient himself in order to come up with an exit strategy. Thinking quickly on his feet—something he’s gotten very good at over the course of his life—he eyes one of the standing consoles in the room and improvises.

 

When the droid reaches for him, he dives beneath the console, grabs onto a cable's rubber insulation—hoping to the Force that his memory is correct and he’s grabbed the right one—and rips it out of its port, exposing the wire at its end and plunging the room into momentary darkness, until the emergency lighting kicks in two seconds later. Cable in hand, he whips around just in time to witness the droid’s arm swinging to slam into his face. Instinctively, he jerks his right hand up in order to block the blow and he succeeds, which is both fortunate and unfortunate. It prevents him from getting his jaw broken, as his forearm takes the brunt of the impact and the Stormtrooper helmet takes the rest, cracking under the force of the hit— _huh, guess this stupid, cumbersome head gear is good for something after all,_ he muses distantly—but the bad news is that it most definitely breaks his arm. _And I thought human punches could hurt..._ _they don’t hold a candle to the strength behind a droid’s metal hand._ The force of the collision of Imperial steel with Rebel skin throws him to the floor, his body impacting with a hard thud, forcing all of the breath from his lungs.

 

“You’re the Rebel spy they’re looking for,” the droid accuses, reaching for him once again. “Well I won’t allow a traitorous rebel to muck up my station.”

 

Despite the fact that his lungs are still spasming and desperately gasping for air, when the droid is inches from seizing his arm, Cassian thrusts the end of the wire forward into the crevasse of the droid’s elbow joint, praying to the Force that it will work. For once, his prayers are answered and electricity surges through the droid, short circuiting it instantly. When he pulls the cable back and lets it dangle beneath the console, the droid’s blue eyes grow dark as it crumples to the ground.

 

Collapsing to the floor in order to catch his breath and catalogue the damage report, he quickly determines his right hand—his dominant hand, unfortunately—will be absolutely useless, the agony of bone grating on bone immediately making itself known and causing him to growl in frustration. Not at the pain—though it is excruciating—but at the fact that his chances of successfully escaping have just diminished by half. He's adept at using his left hand to shoot, but not nearly as accurate as with his right, and having only one hand to help him escape, well, that will definitely be problematic.

 

He takes a moment to get the pain under control, adding it to the growing list— _burned and bleeding right hip and left shoulder, bruised jaw, broken arm… thank the Force I at least don’t have a concussion_. He’s lived with pain for over ten years—dealt with it constantly, it seems—and has reached the point where he can fairly effectively separate his mind from the ache in order to accomplish his mission, at least temporarily. It's always a risky game, though, because while separating himself from the pain means he can do things he needs to in order to complete his mission and fight for the Rebellion, it also means he forces his body way beyond its physical limits, which has serious consequences. But he’s always accepted those consequences, long ago realizing he'll die at a young age, serving the Alliance. At first that concept had bothered him, but as he’d grown older and lost everyone he’d ever cared about, he’s grown to recognize it as fact. He has no one left to live for and, if by his death he can ensure the Rebellion lives on, he won't hesitate. After all, what is his life compared to the lives and freedom of every living being in the galaxy? Besides, a rebel can’t expect to lead a long and comfortable life when fighting for the Rebellion, fighting for the hope of the entire galaxy.

 

But death is not an option right now and neither is capture, because he still has a mission to complete and if he fails, the Rebellion will never get the information they desperately need. He can die the moment he lands on Dantooine, for all he cares, but not a minute before. So he gets the pain down to a manageable level and immediately goes about attacking the problem of how the heck he's supposed to escape—because he _has_ to escape. With an untold number of Stormtroopers between him and freedom, his right hand useless and his left usable but hampered by the blaster wound on his shoulder—which sends fire racing down his arm every time he moves—the prospects do not look promising. That is, until his eyes land on the droid he just short circuited, and the craziest idea begins to form in his head. If he can manage it, he has a pair of hands in front of him, not to mention the fact that the droid's Imperial affiliation means Cassian could potentially walk right out of the base with the droid leading the way, as no one would suspect that the rebel spy they're looking for managed to reprogram an Imperial droid—if he actually manages to reprogram it.

 

*

 

(Present)

 

So that is what had led to his current situation, sitting and tinkering with the droid he’d “killed,” desperately hoping he can reprogram and reboot it, because it's probably his only chance at getting out of here. Yes, it is quite possible he will effectively kill himself if he turns the droid back on and the reprogramming hasn’t taken, but Cassian is realistic and knows there are really only four possible ways the next hour is going to go for him, only one of which has even a chance of him completing the mission. One, he can wait here and eventually Stormtroopers will find and kill him. Two, if the Troopers don’t find him first, the blood loss will probably kill him just as effectively. Three, he doesn’t successfully reprogram the droid and it kills him. And four, he _does_ successfully reprogram the droid and they both manage to escape… and even then, his wounds still might kill him. _So really, I’m dead anyway,_ he thinks, bringing him back to his earlier mental argument.

 

His left hand slips again, causing his torso to twist and jar his broken arm. He grits his teeth, tucks his right arm more firmly in his jacket in a futile effort to stabilize it—he’d discarded the damaged trooper uniform earlier, it’s bulk only pulling on his injuries—and continues. Failure is not an option. Failure has never been an option in Cassian’s life. From the time when he was six years old to now, failure always means someone dies. Failure means the Empire wins—not necessarily total victory, but a victory nonetheless. And that is something he can never accept. Of course, that doesn’t mean he’s always successful. No, he is bitterly familiar with the harsh sting of defeat, of the monumental self-loathing that always comes with letting someone down. The first person he ever truly failed was his mother. And she had died. It didn’t matter that he was only seven years old when it happened, because where and when he grew up, seven years old with a year of war already under your belt meant you were a veteran. And a veteran should have been able to save one of the people he cared about most. But he hadn't.  He quickly learned as a child soldier that emotion—particularly tears, but happiness as well—made you weak. Made you vulnerable. And so he locked everything away, nailed it down tight and never let it out. As a consequence, he hasn’t cried since her hand slipped from his for the last time. He’s grieved, yes, but never in any external manner.

 

He vowed from that day forward that he would never fail someone again, but he can't even count how many times that vow has been broken since then, how many people he’s let down and failed. Each time it happens, he focuses even more on hardening his exterior and edges, gradually building a wall between him and the world, always presenting a mask of cool calculation. The more he acts like he doesn't feel anything on the _outside_ , the easier it is to pretend he feels nothing on the _inside_ , to pretend that the horrors of what he's done don't whisper in his ear every time he lets his guard down. It makes doing unspeakable things for the Rebellion more bearable. He _never_ forgets and he never forgives himself, but he will always do it again if given the chance, because the Alliance is worth it—the Alliance is worth _everything_ to him now. Even though it hurts him deeply, it’s a pain he embraces, because the day he stops feeling remorse and grief over taking a life will be the day he knows he’s lost, the day he becomes just like the Empire he despises.

 

It makes him one hell of an operator—his ability to suppress his emotions—and that is partly what helped him climb the ladder in the Rebellion so quickly. While he’s been a part of the movement since the beginning of the Clone Wars, he didn’t join the organized core group of the Alliance until two years ago. He lied about his age at first—claiming he was already nineteen—and, given his confident attitude and considerable experience, no one questioned him. Eventually it came out that he was only sixteen, but by that time his post as an entry level data analyzer had turned into an entry level role in Intelligence and he was too crucial to the Rebellion's information gathering network. They couldn't afford to let him go, as his fluency in numerous languages, his chameleon skills, his unflappable calm and, most importantly, his dedication to the Rebellion first, made him invaluable.

 

The mission that had both garnered the respect of his superior officers and solidified his place in the Resistance such that they didn't even consider letting him go once they discovered his true age, was when the Intelligence Captain had one of the Sergeants take Cassian on a routine lower level mission in order to test out his field skills and see if he could maintain his cool. It had been Cassian’s first off base mission with the Alliance.

 

Things had gone south very quickly and had been headed towards a security breach of catastrophic proportions, until Cassian had gone off script and improvised. The Imperial Lieutenant they’d been talking with (under the guise of being interested in joining) had grown suspicious of something the Sergeant had said and accused him of being a traitorous spy. The Sergeant had vehemently denied it and attempted to assuage the Lieutenant’s fears, but to no avail. The Lieutenant had pulled out his blaster, aiming it at the Sergeant before directing his attention to Cassian, demanding to know if he was a spy as well. Up until that point, Cassian had kept his body language relaxed and his face hard, but the moment the gun had leveled on his Sergeant, he knew the game had needed to change. So he’d pulled out his most heartless and cutthroat personality and turned on his Sergeant, yelling at the man for pulling him into this mess and even going so far as to physically assault him. Cassian had admitted to the Imperial Lieutenant that he’d had no idea of the Sergeant’s intentions when the man had paid him to accompany him to this meeting. Then Cassian had proceeded to rage about the Sergeant’s vile, disgusting beliefs and thanked the Lieutenant for revealing the man’s true colors. He’d taken it a step further on a hunch, growling at the Lieutenant that if he shot the man, he’d be doing Cassian a favor. Then Cassian had snarled that actually, it would give him great satisfaction to do the deed himself if the Lieutenant would be so generous as to allow him to end the scum’s life.

 

His performance had worked and he’d gotten both himself and the Sergeant out of there uninjured, with the Empire none the wiser to their presence, as the Lieutenant had agreed to let Cassian remove the rebel spy from his presence and dispose of him. The Lieutenant had also promised he would not say anything to upper command, so he wouldn’t have to go through the paperwork involved in explaining a suspected rebel and his untimely death.

 

That mission cemented his position as a valuable and respected asset to the Rebellion and resulted in a promotion to Sergeant Major, a position which allows him to design and control his own missions.

 

Which is how he ended up in a deadly situation in the Imperial base on Roche.

 

He pulls his mind from memories, turning his attention back to the task at hand: he's reached the final wires he needs to splice together in order to reboot the droid. _Now or never. Either you die very suddenly or very slowly. Time is running out._ Sweat beads on his brow, his eyesight keeps getting fuzzy every few moments, and he's sure that if he could look at himself in a mirror, he would see his skin is positively gray. He can feel his body gradually going into shock despite his mind’s best efforts. The constant grating pain in his arm combined with the blood loss—he's still bleeding sluggishly from both wounds, not having had time to attempt any sort of makeshift bandage—is gradually overcoming his ability to compartmentalize. After all, there’s only so much abuse a body can take before it has to shut down, regardless of one’s strength of mind or willpower. He knows there is no way he is getting out of the base without the droid’s help.

 

He has nothing left to lose. He hasn’t let anyone get close enough to him for them to grieve his loss, because given his line of work, he's always known there's a strong possibility that each mission could see the end of him and he saw no point in forming attachments when all it will do is cause pain. No one will miss him if he dies, not beyond feeling the military loss of an asset. Though a small part of him wonders what Vorin will think if Cassian doesn’t make it back from this mission. The two young men haven’t known each other very long, but the blond has been doing everything he can to worm his way beneath Cassian’s thick, impenetrable walls in order to become friends. _He’d get over it quickly, I’m sure,_ he tells himself, before letting out a breath and steeling his nerves. _Well, no time like the present._

He connects the wires. A hum immediately emanates from the droid’s core systems as Cassian sits back to survey his handiwork. The metal body twitches, fingers on its left hand curling into a fist. Given the movement, Cassian decides to stagger to his feet and pull out his blaster, figuring if he's about to be killed, he will die on his feet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is mentioned apathy when Cassian contemplates the possibility of his own death. Cassian is NOT suicidal, not at all, he just prioritizes his life much lower than that of the Rebellion's success. So I just wanted to warn people that that comes up in case people find it triggering.
> 
> I couldn't find out much about Roche and if there'd ever been an Imperial base there, so in my universe there was!
> 
> And there's the first chapter! I'll be back soon with the rest. Let me know what you think?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short-ish chapter, but next chapter is going to be a lot longer :)

Twin blue orbs of light appear in the droid’s face, indicating Cassian has successfully restored power to its system, but beyond its initial twitch, it continues to lie motionless on the floor.

 

Cassian frowns and steps forward, leaning over the hulking figure in order to tap the droid’s chest with his blaster. “Hey,” he calls warily, “are you on?”

 

“Yes,” comes the immediate reply.

 

“Then why aren’t you moving?”

 

“Because there’s an unidentified hostile leaning over me with a gun pointed in my direction and I would very much like to avoid antagonizing said hostile.”

 

Cassian huffs in amusement. _Who knew a droid could be so snarky?_ “Do you have the overwhelming desire to kill me?”

 

“Asks the man with the gun threatening my own existence,” the droid points out accusingly.

 

Cassian rolls his eyes, stepping back and lowering his weapon. _Surely the Empire would have decommissioned him if this is how the droid behaved while under Imperial control._ He couldn’t see the Empire putting up with such sass. “Okay, how about this. I don’t kill you and you don’t kill me. Deal?”

 

There’s a long pause. “Deal.”

 

Cassian grins in relief and lets his aching body sink slowly to the ground, muffling a groan as he leans against a wall.

 

The droid sits up, demanding, “What happened? Who are you? And why in the galaxy don’t I want to rip you apart?”

 

Cassian snorts at that. “You attacked me and I was forced to short circuit you. And the reason you don’t feel the need to kill me is because I overrode most of the Imperial programming and protocols in your system. You are no longer the agent of an evil, corrupt system. You’re welcome.”

 

The droid stares at him. “Oh. Well that explains a lot,” he murmurs, accented voice thoughtful. “I suppose an introduction is in order, then. I’m K-2SO, Imperial—uh, _ex_ -Imperial security droid.”

 

“K-2SO?” Cassian repeats. “That’s much too long and impersonal. No… I will call you Kay, if that’s acceptable to you?”

 

The droid pauses as if to think about it, before replying, “That would indeed be acceptable.” The droid then tries to rise to his feet, but does so by using his right arm, the one that Cassian had shoved the cable into in order to short circuit him. Apparently, while the rest of Kay has come back online, that limb of his hasn’t. Kay’s gaze snaps to his non-functioning arm, snaps to Cassian, then back to his own arm, before finally whipping back to settle on the young man. “My arm won’t work. What did you do to my arm?! You killed it!” Kay exclaims in outrage

 

“Huh. Well,” he chuckles humorlessly, nodding to his own arm cradled in his jacket, “you broke mine first, so I’d say we’re even. Plus, yours is a lot easier to fix.”

 

“True,” Kay concedes, somewhat mollified by the fact that Cassian’s right arm also isn’t working. “You humans are such a fragile species.”

 

“Fragile?” Cassian echoes in disbelief. “Was I fragile when I completely overpowered you?”

 

“That’s a terrible pun,” Kay admonishes disdainfully. “And ‘fragile’ doesn’t mean ‘weak,’” the droid clarifies. “Certainly in your case, I don’t think there’s anything weak about you—evidenced by the fact that you were able to take me down,” Kay states primly. “And, if you’re the rebel the Empire has been so desperate to get their hands on, the one disrupting their operations, whose face has yet to be seen, then you are most definitely not weak.” Kay pauses before giving Cassian a hard look. “Though my sensors are telling me that you are not faring well at this moment.”

 

Cassian could swear he detects a note of admiration in his new partner’s voice, which morphs to concern towards the end, but Cassian dismisses it. _I must be hearing things._ Leaning his head back against the wall as fatigue begins to pull at him, he mumbles, “Yeah, broken bones and blood loss tend to do that to me.”

 

Kay nods sagely. “You currently have a sixty-three percent chance of dying within the next hour. Factoring in the likelihood of discovery and capture by the Empire ups the percentage to ninety-two.”

 

Cassian closes his eyes and half smiles. “That’s not so bad. That means there’s a thirty-seven percent chance that I make it. I can live with that.”

 

Kay scoffs. “Well you’re just full of puns. And very bad ones, at that. But I think you misunderstood me. I said there’s a sixty-three percent chance you die, not a thirty-seven percent chance that you live. And you completely ignored the latter half of my sentence! Did you not hear the ‘ninety-two!?’” he demands indignantly.

 

Leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, adrenaline rapidly fading and bone deep fatigue and pain setting in, Cassian finds himself smiling fully as he banters with Kay— _I like this droid_. “I prefer to look on the bright side of things,” he replies quietly, feeling his body relax further and further. _Maybe if I just go to sleep, I won’t wake up again and then all of the pain I’ve been carrying around for twelve years, everything I’ve done, it will all be gone. Maybe I’ve done enough good for my lifetime…_

“Hey,” a voice calls from somewhere far away. “Hey! Rebel!” the voice shouts, accompanied by a not so gentle poke to his side.

 

He startles back into focus, eyes snapping open as a wave of pain shoots through his arm and leg. “Ack,” he hisses, biting his lip to stop any further sound of pain from escaping. “What was that for?” he growls angrily.

 

The droid stares at him with unblinking blue orbs. “While there’s a high likelihood of your death within the next hour, I’d much prefer it if you delayed that for as long as you can, because I need you in order to get out of here.”

 

“You’d be fine even if the Empire caught me. You’re an Imperial droid, after all,” he counters, mind beginning to feel sluggish.

 

Kay’s eyes move in a strange way and Cassian suspects he just tried to roll them. “ _Ex-_ Imperial droid, thanks to you,” he reminds the rebel in exasperation. “Whatever you did to me makes me have the incredibly strong urge to speak my mind and, no matter what I do, I can’t keep my mouth shut. Figuratively,” he adds, gesturing to his lack of an actual mouth. “Do you know how long I would last in the hands of the Empire? Because I do. There is a one-hundred percent certainty that I would be decommissioned within five minutes.”

 

Cassian eyes the droid. He’d hoped they could work together, but he’d been fully prepared for the possibility that the droid would flat out refuse—or just kill him and be done with it. Willing cooperation is something he hadn’t dared to hope for. “So you’re saying you want to escape with me.”

 

The droid’s eyes shift to the right, before returning to Cassian’s face. “Well, if you want to put it that way in order to make you feel better, then yes. In reality, if you help in my escape it significantly raises the chances of success. Plus, I wouldn’t know where to go once I did escape, and I assume you, as a rebel, would.”

 

“Your loyalty is incredible,” Cassian remarks sarcastically.

 

“Why should I be loyal to you?” Kay retorts. “All you’ve done is cause me nothing but trouble! For all I know you just want to use me selfishly for your own personal gain! I figure you’re going to abandon me the minute you’re able, so I might as well capitalize on you while I have the chance and ensure my own survival by escaping!”

 

Cassian sighs, recognizing the droid has a point. “Fair enough, I suppose I haven’t done anything to earn your trust,” he concedes. “But I’m a rebel and so are you—willingly or not—and a true rebel doesn’t leave a fellow rebel behind. So no, I’m not going to ‘use you for my own personal gain’ only to leave you rusting somewhere,” Cassian promises earnestly. “But, if we’re going to make it out of here, you’re going to have to find me something else to wear,” he informs the droid, gesturing to the ruined Stormtrooper uniform he discarded earlier.

 

Kay glances at the pile of armor, before looking around the room—there’s nothing here to work as an outfit, Cassian checked already—and finally returning his gaze to Cassian. He appears thoughtful, as if analyzing the sincerity of Cassian’s words, before uttering “I’ll be right back,” rising to his full height and walking out of the room.

 

Cassian is so surprised that he doesn’t even have time to hiss at the droid to stop. _Did he change his mind? Is he going to find someone in order to tell them of my presence?_ It seems unlikely, and really it doesn’t matter because Cassian can’t do anything about it even if he tries. While he’s trying to stay optimistic, he is no longer sure of his ability to stand, much less walk out of the base.

 

He must have drifted off to sleep again because the next thing he knows, a thud jerks him awake. It’s Kay dropping a Deathtrooper suit at his feet. “Where… where the hell did you get that?”

 

The droid looks guiltily to the side. “It’s probably better if you don’t know. I figured it would be even better than a regular Trooper, as even those bufoons are afraid of the Deathtroopers and are less likely to stop us and ask questions. You’re a little small, though, so I tried to get the shortest one I could find, but these guys mostly come in tall and taller.”

 

Cassian nods his thanks and wordlessly begins struggling to put the suit on, finding it difficult with only one functioning hand. He’s surprised and proud when he even manages to makes it to his feet, pushing through his body’s fatigue until he only has one piece of armor left except for the helmet: the right forearm. Gingerly, he slips it over his hand and slowly shifts it up his arm, graying as it repositions his bones and puts pressure on the already swollen limb. He attempts to fasten the clasp to hold it in place, but his less dexterous left hand fumbles and smacks his right arm. The world explodes in stars and he feels himself falling, on a collision course with the ground and certain unconsciousness if his head strikes the floor, but then something reaches out and catches his left arm just above the elbow. He cries out in pain as it pulls on his wounded shoulder, but is grateful because it slows his descent and halts his one way trip to oblivion, and instead he feels himself lowered to sit gently on the floor.

 

When his vision returns and he manages to get his breathing under control, suppressing the nausea as best he can, he sees Kay’s hand still clasped around his left arm. He looks up at the droid with gratitude. “Thank you,” he whispers hoarsely, voice rough with pain.

 

“No need for thanks. Like I said, my chances of survival are much higher if you’re still alive,” he states dismissively, and if there is a note of worry in his voice, Cassian doesn’t have the energy to call him out on it.

 

He is about to attempt to clasp the armguard again—he is _not_ looking forward to the experience—when Kay lets go of his elbow and moves to his right forearm, finishing attaching it without causing much additional pain. Cassian blinks. _Huh,_ he muses, _didn’t know a droid could be so gentle._

 

“All right, Rebel,” Kay addresses him briskly, rising to his full hulking height, “what do we do to get out of this mess?”

 

Cassian takes a moment to organize his thoughts and try to get his brain back into high gear; it still feels fuzzy. “We find a hangar,” he starts, “make our way there and hope to the Force that we can commandeer a ship without being stopped or shot down.”

 

“And how do you propose we do that?” Kay demands skeptically.

 

“Well, ideally we walk right through the halls in our ‘disguises’ and no one stops us.”

 

“I’m not sure we can hope on ‘ideally,’ because ‘ideally’ we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place,” Kay snaps snarkily. “And can you even walk? You nearly passed out a moment ago from a poke in the arm.”

 

Cassian clenches his jaw in order to prevent himself from shouting at the droid. “I have a broken arm, Kay. You might not be familiar with the concept of pain or broken bones, but I can assure you that they are _agony_. And in answer to your question, I have no choice but to walk. I think we would draw too much attention if a droid was spotted carrying a Deathtrooper, no?” he fires back, unable to resist confronting the droid’s sarcasm with some of his own. “But I’ll probably have to hold onto your arm for support,” he admits grudgingly.

 

“You want to hold my hand,” the droid states incredulously.

 

“ _Arm,_ ” Cassian emphasizes through gritted teeth.

 

“It sounds to me like you want to hold my hand,” Kay points out and this time Cassian’s sure there’s a smugness to his tone.

 

“Kay!” he hisses exasperatedly, rolling his eyes.

 

“Rebel!” the droid throws back at him. “How do you like it when someone snaps your name?”

 

 _Well this is going to be interesting. This is either going to be the shortest escape attempt I’ve ever tried, or the beginning of a long ride home in the company of an infuriating—admittedly amusing—droid._ He dearly hopes for the latter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pronoun shift from "it" to "he" in regards to K-2SO was intentional. In the first chapter, K2 was just an Imperial droid, and now Cassian's getting to know him.
> 
> And of course, I know there's a huge debate as to how humanoid droids are, whether they have feelings and/or free will and all of that, so my take on it is that droids absolutely have feelings. It's pretty evident in TFA that BB-8 grieved when he thought Poe was dead and C-3PO is always panicking and coming up with the worst outcomes, and various other hints that indicate droids can feel. And as to free will, well that's a tougher issue. But I'm saying that Kay at least has free will (perhaps due to less than perfect reprogramming), because after all, if I remember correctly, he decides to disobey an order and joins Jyn and Cassian in Jedha because he was bored and the order was stupid... so... yeah.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a section from K2's perspective... I wanted to try it, but it was really difficult to keep it droid-y and not too human-y. I don't think I was entirely successful, but oh well.

Ten minutes later, they make their way out of the room and down the hallways towards a nearby hangar where Cassian hopes to hijack a ship. They are an imposing pair, for all appearances a Deathtrooper and a seven-foot-one Imperial security droid. As they make their way, Cassian mulls over the fact that he has more in common with the droid than he initially thought: though their current outwards appearances indicate otherwise, neither of them supports the Empire, both desire to escape it, they both have a sharp tongue—figuratively, in Kay’s case—and quick wit, and strangely enough, their right arms are both “broken.” Cassian wonders if it’s a sign—of what, he’s not sure—but he immediately dismisses the idea as a mere coincidence. He doesn't believe the Force watches over him—or over anyone else, for that matter—because he's never had the luxury of trusting the fate of the galaxy to something so untouchable. And yet... a tiny voice in the back of his mind, a part of him that still retains hope and optimism and has been left untainted by grueling conflict and loss, that part whispers maybe, just maybe, the Force has a hand in his meeting with the Imperial droid. Internally, he groans at the unintended pun of "hand," glad he hadn’t voiced it aloud because he’s sure Kay would have seized on it and used it as more proof that Cassian has terrible taste.

 

He pulls his mind from pointless thoughts of the Force and listens as the alert still wails throughout the halls. They pass various personnel going about their various duties—including continuing to search for the rebel spy—though Cassian and Kay use as many back corridors as they can in order to avoid as many people as possible. Whenever someone approaches them, Cassian makes sure to surreptitiously let go of Kay’s disabled arm, forcing himself to stand and walk on his own. Each time, he worries he won’t be able to remain upright, but he digs deep into his reserves of strength and stays on his feet.

 

Whenever he grabs onto Kay’s arm again, he catches the droid glancing down at the dead limb. Cassian’s getting better at reading the droid’s subtle body language and “facial expressions,” and can easily tell what the droid is thinking—after all, reading body language (and by extension, minds) is what Cassian does for a living.

 

Once they are alone in the hallway after a group of Stormtroopers pass by and Cassian latches back onto Kay, he does his best to reassure the droid. “It’s not permanent.”

 

“How do you know?” Kay demands petulantly. “Maybe you’ve irreparably damaged me.”

 

“I will fix it. I promise,” Cassian assures vehemently. “And if I can’t, I will get you a new one.”

 

The droid falls silent and Cassian isn’t sure if it’s because Kay just doesn’t want to talk about the depressing subject anymore, or if it’s because he’s processing whether or not to believe the promise. Cassian doubts the droid has ever been promised anything by anyone.

 

As they move farther and farther along, the hangar drawing agonizingly slowly closer, Cassian starts to feel his concentration slip—the momentary adrenaline rush that he received from leaving the relative safety of the control room is now gone. His right hip and pant leg feel cold and wet inside the Deathtrooper uniform, indicating his wound reopened, and he can see blood dripping from the fingertips of the glove on his left hand whenever he lets go of Kay’s arm. He can practically feel his strength bleeding out with each droplet that glides lazily down his hand to slip noiselessly to the floor. His steps grow slower and slower.

 

And he realizes, then, that he is not going to make it. He is not going to be able to stay on his feet much longer and he knows he’ll be unconscious not long after his feet go out from under him. He will not be able to complete his mission and that kills him inside. Will his last action in this galaxy really amount to nothing? Everything he’s worked for in his life, erased by one last failure? He rages silently, bitter at what he sees as the Force’s final betrayal, its ultimate way of saying it doesn’t care about him or the Rebellion. _Or, perhaps this is the final proof that there is no such thing as the Force,_ the dark part of his mind whispers angrily. _That the Jedi’s were a lie, that there’s no fabric of Good woven between every world, that there are only less than perfect species who blunder about blindly and ruin lives with barely a second thought._ He clenches his left hand in fury, but it doesn’t close into a fist as he originally intended, instead it tightens around the forearm of his companion. Kay must feel the pressure of his grip, as the droid glances down at Cassian before returning his gaze to staring straight ahead, intent on monitoring their progress. And that’s when Cassian realizes that maybe he’s wrong. Maybe, just maybe, the Force is not a lie. Maybe he’s just never been able to comprehend its influence before, and now, finally, he does. It’s in that moment that he understands; he may not complete this mission, but he has someone who can finish it for him.

 

“Kay,” he murmurs, “if for any reason I don’t make it, I need you to do whatever it takes to get out of here and deliver these files to the Rebellion on Dantooine. You’ll need the ship entry clearance of Zero-Eight-Ex-Two-Three.” He places a small disc in the droid’s lifeless fist, curling the motionless digits around it. He’s trusting Kay not with his life, but with something he considers far more important: he’s trusting Kay with the Alliance and with the lives of _everyone_ in it. “They are of the utmost importance and are critical to the Rebellion’s defense,” he declares firmly.

 

The droid stares down at him. “You know, you seem awfully young to be on a mission of such high importance, especially alone. What are you… eighteen? Nineteen?”

 

Cassian scoffs. “There’s no such thing as young in a Rebellion. I’m a seasoned veteran now.”

 

The droid hums in what almost sounds like sorrowful acknowledgement, though Cassian’s brain is too fuzzy to attempt to figure out what it truly means.

  
“Please,” he whispers, not caring that a pleading tone enters his voice. There is no time for pride with his mission at stake. “ _Please_ make sure this data makes it to the Rebellion.”

 

Kay reaches across with his good arm and place his hand gently over Cassian’s. “I promise I will do my best,” he replies honestly, without any trace of his usual sarcasm. “But I promise to try even harder to ensure that _both_ of us make it back. Don’t I keep telling you that my survival depends heavily on yours?” the droid demands. “Don’t go getting all selfish on me and dying, because you’ll more than likely take me with you!”

_Annnnd the snark is back,_ Cassian chuckles to himself, catching the note of teasing in Kay’s voice.

 

“Thank you,” Cassian breathes, relief filling him. “Thank you, but I think you should just focus on the data. I won’t hold you to your latter promise because it is going to be pretty difficult to accomplish.”

 

“Oh? And why is that?”

 

Cassian doesn’t get a chance to answer, because just at that moment, one of his legs gives out. The only thing that saves him from falling is Kay’s quick reflexes. The droid latches onto his left arm in order to keep him upright.

 

“Just go,” Cassian mutters, fighting to keep his eyes open, the world dimming a little—which unfortunately has nothing to do with the Deathtrooper’s dark helmet. “Leave me and go.”

 

The droid glances around—fortunately the hall is empty, so no one witnessed the uncharacteristic stumble of a Deathtrooper, which would have surely given them away. “No, I don’t think I’ll do that,” he disagrees. “Like you said, a true rebel never leaves anyone behind and, if I’m to be a rebel, I may as well start by doing it right. The hangar is just around that corner,” he nods his head to a bend in the hallway only fifty feet away. “If you are half the man that my systems have calculated you are, then you can make it another few hundred feet! And you won’t be doing it alone. I’ll help you until we’re into the hangar, though then you’ll have to walk to the nearest ship by yourself; people might talk if they spot a Deathtrooper and a security droid holding hands,” Kay finishes slyly.

 

And with that, Kay switches to Cassian’s right side so that the droid can hold him upright, then marches them forwards. They finally round the corner and Kay lets go of Cassian’s arm. Holding onto his sanity and consciousness with every shred of will power he has left, he focuses only on putting one foot in front of the other. His leg threatens to give out again, sending shooting pain from his foot all the way up to his torso, but he refuses to let it crumple. Kay’s gentle nudges keep him on target towards a shuttle parked in the hangar.

 

They almost make it.

 

“Halt!” a voice shouts at them when they’re only ten feet from the shuttle. Turning, Cassian spots a lone Stormtrooper who picks up enough courage to challenge a Deathtrooper and a droid who shouldn’t be there, stepping out from his small group of men monitoring the area. “What business do you have with this shuttle? There’s a rebel spy on the loose. Why aren’t you participating in the search?” the Trooper demands, voice growing in confidence with each question he asks.

 

 _We were so close,_ Cassian mourns, recognizing that with each passing moment, their chances of successfully escaping diminish exponentially—Kay could probably tell him the precise amount, but Cassian doesn’t need a numerical statistic in order to know they are perilously close to failure. He _has_ to make sure Kay makes it to the shuttle, not just because of the data now in the droid’s possession, but because Cassian feels responsible for him—after all, it was the reprogramming by Cassian’s own hand that put Kay in this dangerous position. And, he desperately wants to keep his earlier promise: he doesn’t want to use the droid—who he’s rapidly getting attached to—he wants to _help_ him. He wants to give him a chance to start over, a chance at a new life. For a friend, Cassian will do anything to keep a promise. So he steels his resolve, channels the adrenaline surge in response to the Stormtrooper's confrontation, straightens to his full height, steps directly in front of Kay, locks his knees in order to stay on his feet and glares at the man who halted them. Though the Stormtrooper cannot see his stern gaze due to the Deathtrooper helmet, Cassian’s anger is conveyed nonetheless.

 

“If you had listened to the General’s orders,” Cassian sneers, casting aside his natural accent in favor of a more Imperialistic one and donning an arrogant, almost malevolent attitude, “you would have heard that every _inch_ of this base is to be searched, which includes barracks, supply rooms, refreshers and yes, even the ships.” Cassian angles his head towards Kay and snaps, “Droid! Continue on your directive of scanning that shuttle for the rebel scum! I need to clear up this Trooper’s priorities, since he has time to hassle a superior officer while not participating in the search himself!” He returns his attention to the Stormtrooper—whose three companions have now joined him in confronting Cassian—hoping that Kay will listen to him.

 

By the lack of mechanical noise indicating the droid’s retreat and the Stormtroopers’ continued stares over Cassian’s shoulder, he gathers that Kay—unsurprisingly—has chosen to ignore him. The Troopers’ grips tighten on their blasters, suspicious at the fact that the droid did not immediately follow a direct order. Cassian sighs internally. _So much for that ruse._ He tries to salvage the situation, even knowing it’s probably pointless. “Droid!” he shouts, without taking his eyes off of the blasters. “Continue your directive!”

 

There’s a moment of tense silence, and then the droid replies, “Okay.” Relief courses through Cassian because he’s pretty sure he can hold these four off long enough for Kay to reach the shuttle and depart from the base. His relief is short lived, however, when Kay continues matter-of-factly, “But I’d much rather keep my promise and that means you’re coming with me.”

 

Cassian’s eyes widen and he only has a moment to comprehend what Kay means, before he feels the droid’s metal arm snake beneath his own arms and wrap around his torso. Within seconds, Kay lifts him in the air and takes a step backwards. Cassian’s brain races to process this turn of events and analyze their best course of action, already raising his blaster to take aim at one of the Imperials. His muscles tremble with fatigue, but he aims true and the first man goes down before the other three even fully level their weapons. _Not bad for a left-handed shot,_ he thinks in satisfaction, before immediately moving his aim to another target as Kay continues their retreat. Cassian doesn’t even have time to think about how ridiculous they must look—a droid carrying a Deathtrooper one handed—and frankly he doesn’t care so long as they make it to the shuttle. He squeezes the trigger and a second man goes down, but by now the remaining two Stormtroopers have had time to aim and Cassian can already see their fingers pulling on the triggers. He prepares himself for the two shots that are no doubt about to impact with his body, but at the last moment Kay twists so that the droid is the one who suffers the blasts.

 

Cassian has a moment to register his surprise at the droid’s selfless action, and then they’re up the loading ramp of the shuttle and Kay slams the controls, closing the door immediately and shutting out the rest of the blaster fire that follows.

 

Kay tries to set Cassian down, but the moment his feet reach the floor, he sags towards the ground. Kay catches him, wrapping his long arm around Cassian’s chest again in order to carry him farther into the shuttle. The blaster falls from Cassian’s numb hand and he feels like he can’t breath—not because of Kay’s arm, but because of the mask on his face. As his body shuts down, the helmet begins to feel more and more claustrophobic. He raises his left hand, feebly attempting to get it off and eventually successfully removes it. He gasps in a breath of air before letting his head tip to the side and rest on Kay, as he no longer has the strength to hold it upright.

 

The droid jostles him gently as he races towards the cockpit. “Hey, Rebel, please stay with me.” Cassian thinks he sounds uncharacteristically concerned, until the droid adds almost as an after thought—as if not wanting to be caught sounding worried—“I can’t fly this ship on my own; it requires two pilots.”

 

“I’m awake,” he mutters unconvincingly into the droid’s arm.

 

Suddenly, he feels himself settling in the co-pilot’s seat and Kay gently arranges the man’s left hand on the controls before sitting himself in the pilot’s chair. “I can do everything but man the stabilizers. Can you manage that? You just have to hold us steady.”

 

Cassian nods determinedly.

 

Kay fires up the ship as Imperials scurry around in the hangar outside the cockpit, trying to understand what’s going on. Immediately, tower control hails them, ordering that they power down and remain grounded and prepare to be boarded, before demanding to know who they are. Kay glances at Cassian before replying, “We’re rebels.”

 

Cassian manages to grin. “Punch it, Kay.”

 

“It would be my pleasure.”

 

They rocket out of the base.

 

As they speed out of the planet’s gravity field in order to make the jump to light speed, Cassian finds a strange sense of calm flooding him. He’s done it. _They_ have done it. Together. He tries his best to stay conscious in order to man the stabilizers, but despite his best efforts, his eyes slip shut and his head falls to the side. _I’ve done my part, tried my best… I can let go now. I’m sure Kay will figure out a way to fly this thing without me._ Peace fills him, though a small amount of regret surfaces as well. _It’s too bad, though. I would have liked to get to know Kay. I think we could have been friends, if given the chance._

He surrenders to oblivion.

 

*

 

When the human slumps in the seat next to him just before they make the jump to light speed, Kay feels a jolt of electricity he identifies as pure _panic_ zip through him. _NO!_ They are so close to freedom and medical help! The young man can’t just give up now!

 

“Rebel!” he shouts ( _I really must get his name,_ he absently makes a mental note to himself).

 

His shout gets no response. He turns his attention back to the controls just long enough to send the ship into hyperspace heading for the Rebel base the young man had told him about and turns on the ship’s autopilot. Then he’s out of his seat and across the aisle, bending over the motionless human.

 

He prods him, as that was sufficient enough to awaken him earlier. Now, it has no effect. His scans can’t penetrate the Deathtrooper uniform, but he recalls the young man’s injuries and immediately heads back into the ship in order to locate the medkit. Kit in hand, he returns quickly and removes enough of the rebel’s armor in order to access the wounds. He knows it most certainly is _not_ a good sign that all of the jostling that accompanies the uniform removal does nothing to rouse the dark haired human, despite the fact that Kay surmises it causes extensive pain.

 

 _There’s an eighty-two percent chance he’ll die,_ an unwanted program whispers to him.

 

 _Quiet!_ he hisses back. He doesn’t want to entertain the thought of this young man dying when Kay feels he owes him a debt for giving the droid his first sense of an actual purpose in life, of an actual life beyond boring, mindless monitoring. And if Kay is honest, he really doesn’t want the man himself to die. Sure, the rebel is aggravating at times, but he’s shown more honesty and character— _and determination and headstrong stubbornness,_ he adds mentally—than Kay has ever analyzed in a person before—and analysis is his specialty after all, so he’s analyzed a _lot_ of people. While Kay initially suspected that the rebel was only using Kay for his own personal gain—and indeed maybe that _was_ the man’s initial goal—he feels confident in saying that’s no longer the case. Why would a man promise a droid anything such as that he wouldn’t leave the droid behind and that he’d restore the droid's arm to working order? The mere fact that a non-droid had promised a droid _anything,_ and _meant_ it, speaks volumes to the man’s character. And when the rebel ordered Kay onto the ship, the droid knows it was partially because he has the information the man is so keen to get to the Rebellion, but Kay could also hear something else in the tone of the man’s voice, something that communicated to Kay that the man wanted _Kay_ to make it out of there. It felt only natural, then, to keep his promise in return for the human keeping his, which is why he’d grabbed the man and made for their retreat. And when he’d seen the Stormtroopers take aim at the man in his arm, he knew immediately that the man was about to die and well, Kay could most certainly fix that. His shell could take a couple of hits without too much damage, the same could not be said for the human. Plus, the rebel had treated Kay with respect… well, most of the time. The man _had_ gotten a little snarky, but Kay admits that he himself had been the first to be sarcastic with the rebel, so it had only been fair.

 

As the black armor comes away, revealing that the man’s clothes are positively soaked in blood, Kay can’t stop his programs from running, wailing warnings in his head that this is _too much_ blood.

 

 _Approximately thirty percent lost!_ one of his analyses screams. _Approaching near irreparable, catastrophic damage!_

“Yes, I _see_ that,” he growls at the haywire systems, “I don’t need you shouting it throughout my circuits, I’m panicking as it is!”

 

He can’t shut the pessimistic, doom riddled programs down, however, probably due to the combination of reprogramming glitches and the damage his body took when shielding the rebel from blaster fire. Instead he does his best to ignore them.

 

He pops open the medkit, tssking when he finds the supplies scarily limited. _Well it’s better than nothing,_ he tells himself, taking a leaf out of the rebel’s book and trying to look on the bright side. He pulls one of the two bacta patches out and quickly opens it. Ripping the shoulder of the young man’s shirt in order to directly access the injury, he places the patch over the wound and presses down _hard._ The human doesn’t even flinch.

 

 _Unresponsive! Indications of reduced total function and poor circulation to extremities. Gray skin and perspiration. Suggest system in shock!_ his medical analysis informs him again.

 

“If you won’t shut up I’m going to rip you out of my files the first chance I get!” he snarls, securing the bacta to the man’s shoulder and moving to the man’s hip. _Abdomen,_ he corrects upon getting his first proper look at the seven inch slice that crosses the man’s side, not his hip. Its edges are burned and inflamed, while its center cuts deep into the man’s muscle and still bleeds sluggishly. Kay presses the last bacta patch to it, grumbling about the Empire’s inferiority when it isn’t quite large enough to cover the wound.

 

“Rebel,” he calls to the human, “it would please me greatly if you woke up. If you do, your chances of survival will increase by five percent.” He watches the rebel’s face, looking for any sign of a response, but sees nothing. Instead, he’s struck by just how young the man is. He’d noticed it earlier on their way to the hangar, but it’s even more obvious now, as the man’s face is no longer lined in concern and calculation. _He’s almost a boy, except for the fact that his eyes tell the tale of an old soul. He has far too much responsibility on his shoulders, too much of a sense of duty and too little sense of self-preservation._ Though Kay admits that, just a little while earlier, he’d tried to exploit those exact qualities in the hopes of keeping the man conscious just a little longer; Kay doesn’t actually need help piloting the ship. Telling the rebel otherwise had been a bald-faced lie, but a lie with the best intentions because he’d hoped his ruse would compel the man to stay awake and functioning long enough for them to land on Dantooine, where he could get immediate medical attention. But Kay wasn’t really surprised when the man slipped into oblivion. Kay was more surprised that the rebel had remained on his feet for as long as he had. Between the blood loss, the subsequent shock and the oblique fracture to both his radius and ulna, the man should have been out cold or senseless a full forty minutes ago.

 

A few moments later, the ship beeps that they are almost ready to come out of hyperspace at Dantooine. And that’s when Kay realizes that they are in an Imperial ship, approaching a rebel base.

 

“Oh, Kriff.”

 

He gives the man’s face one last glance, before he hurries to the communications, punching in the frequency for the base that the man had told him.

 

“Uh, hello Alliance base, we are rebels approaching in a stolen Imperial shuttle, authorization code Zero-Eight-Ex-Two-Three. We will be coming out of hyperspace in moments. Please don’t shoot us down.” _Oh yes, very convincing,_ he congratulates himself sarcastically. _Nothing like being blunt and to the point, Kay. ‘We’re rebels, don’t shoot,’ ha! Like that’s going to work._

 

Silence.

 

 _How rude!_ he grouses, though he realizes that the rebels have reason to be highly suspicious—as his circuits had just reminded him—and are likely attempting to verify what he’d said. “Please respond,” he prompts.

 

There’s another moment of silence, before a voice comes on demanding, “Who the hell is this? And who the hell is we?!”

 

“I am K-2SO and I’m with—” he stops, realizing he has absolutely no idea who the man is. He knows the character of the man, but he can’t very well convey that as an identifier over the radio. “Well, uh, I don’t actually know,” he admits. _We’re doomed,_ he moans internally.

 

“What do you mean you don’t know!?”

 

“I find your tone rather offensive,” Kay informs the man haughtily. “I don’t know who I’m with because he never told me his name—despite my asking. I’m a droid he picked up during his mission to retrieve data from the Imperial base on Roche. His mission was successful, but I’m afraid the young man was severely injured and will require immediate medical attention upon our arrival. As in _immediate,_ ” he stresses.

 

Silence greets him and he figures the man must be conferring with someone higher up, likely trying to decide if Kay’s story is plausible or if it’s a trap set up by the Empire. Sure enough, a new voice speaks up. “Did you say Roche?” a woman inquires.

 

“Yes, that’s correct.”

 

“Can you describe the man you’re with?”

 

Kay looks at the unconscious rebel next to him. “He’s young, younger than should be sent on such a critical mission,” he informs them, not bothering to disguise his accusing tone, “dark hair, brown eyes, a force of will a mile long and no self-preservation instincts when it comes to the Rebellion.”

 

“That definitely sounds like Cassian Andor,” the voice remarks. “All right, droid, you have permission to land.”

 

He looks at the man. _Cassian. It’s nice to meet you. I hope I’ll get to meet you properly, preferably when both of us are fully functional._

 

Just as he’s about to sign off, he thinks of one more crucial piece of information. “Oh, also, I’m an Imperial droid that Cassian reprogrammed. Please don’t shoot me on sight.”

 

*

 

Cassian awakes to the heavy sensation of drugs in his body. It isn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling and he is grateful he’s no longer in pain, but the feeling of not being able to move because his arms weigh ten times what they should always disconcerts him.

 

He sighs, then inhales deeply, breathing in the air which means he’s still alive. He truly hadn’t thought he would ever wake up again when he’d slipped into unconsciousness on the shuttle.

 

He turns his head and finds a sight that surprises him: Vorin asleep in the chair next to his bed, head bent at an uncomfortable angle. Cassian doesn’t quite know what to make of that… does the other man truly think of him as such a close friend? Cassian can’t imagine why… he’s done everything he can to discourage the blond and push him away. He tucks those thoughts into the corner of his mind for further analysis later, because at that moment he notices something even more surprising: Kay, standing just behind Vorin.

 

The droid must see Cassian’s eyes widen in surprise—though not in unwelcome surprise—because he explains, “They don’t really know what to do with me, so they stuck me in here for now. Apparently I was making people uncomfortable.”

 

Cassian snorts softly. “I can’t imagine why.”

 

Vorin continues to slumber, dead to the world.

 

“Oh,” the droid adds cheerily, “and they fixed my arm!” He swings both limbs out to the side in obvious delight to demonstrate their functionality. “So thank you for keeping your promise, even though you had nothing to do with it. Flying ships will be much easier with two arms. It was quite an interesting experience only having one, but I’m not eager to repeat the incident.”

 

Cassian half smiles at Kay’s enthusiasm and happiness, before a thought occurs to him, brought on by what the droid just said and by Cassian’s memory of his last moments before losing consciousness. “How did you make it here after I passed out? How did you keep the ship stable?”

 

Kay’s eyes flick to the side guiltily. “Oh, I, uh, lied about that.”

 

“What?” Cassian asks in confusion.

 

“I didn’t actually need your help to pilot the ship, I just said I did hoping you’d stay awake out of a sense of duty towards completing the mission.”

 

Cassian gapes at the droid, shocked that he’d come up with such a devious and ingenious plan.

 

“Also,” the droid continues, obviously trying to change the subject before Cassian can come up with a response, “it’s nice to meet you and finally know your name, _Cassian._ And why is the name ‘K-2SO’ too long when it’s four syllables and yours is three?” he demands. “I think that means I’m allowed to give you a nickname now. It’s only fair. What about Cass? Hmm. No. How about Cassie?”

 

Cassian freezes, heart constricting painfully, ice flooding his veins. “No,” he replies coolly, all trace of a smile and astonishment gone.

 

The droid’s rambling stops immediately and he stares at the man lying in bed. For a moment, part of Cassian worries he’s offended the droid—who, against his better judgement, he is beginning to like—but he won’t take it back because _no one_ can call him Cassie. Only one person had ever called him that and she was the first person he’d ever failed in his life.

 

But Kay is more perceptive than Cassian gives him credit for and the droid rolls his shoulders in an approximation of a shrug. “Fine, too feminine for you? Does it threaten your image of a tough rebel?” he asks, purposefully steering the tone of the conversation into lighthearted areas. “Then I guess I’ll just have to stick with Cassian… until I come up with something else… perhaps ‘Too Brave for His Own Good?’ Hmm. No, that’s much too long. What about ‘Stubborn Idiot?’ Ahh, no, that’s too long as well. Oh! I’ve got it: ‘Dolt.’ What do you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! The beginning of a long friendship :) I love these two. They (and the rest of Rogue One) will be back soon in the sequel!


End file.
